


Tinder Dates and Mario Kart

by Bazzys



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Ass to Mouth, Awkward Dates, Background Character Death, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Choking, Depression, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Neck Kissing, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Rimming, Spanking, Tags Contain Spoilers, Temporary Character Death, Threesome - M/M/M, cawllection, life is angstier than intended, this became angstier than intended but that's how life works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 06:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19987399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazzys/pseuds/Bazzys
Summary: The story of how going out one night became an entire weekend staying in





	Tinder Dates and Mario Kart

**Author's Note:**

> Waaaah I'm back at it with my shenanigans >.<  
> This one took me forever, but I wrote most of it during the past week ooof
> 
> At least it's here now! Enjoyyyy~

Jongho’s date is going horribly.

Not that he actually cares about getting to know her, he read all he needed to know from her profile. He’d swiped right, she’d swiped right, they agreed on meeting here and now they’re drinking, waiting for the first move to be made. They’ll end up making out in the back of a taxi going to her place and he’ll spend most of the night getting to know the _body_ of his date better, before she’ll fall asleep and he’ll leave without leaving a note. In other words, the same as all of the other dates he’s had the past year, considering Tinder dates these days revolve mostly around fucking your “date”. But when she exclusively types away at her phone, only offering him one-word answers at every attempt at starting conversation, it makes it kinda hard to seduce someone. The fact that she’s called him John the entire night is not exactly a turn-on either.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she says over the music and sneaks away, eyes still glued onto her screen.

Jongho doesn’t bother looking after her when she leaves. So instead, he takes a mouthful of his beer and inspects the inside of the club they’re at in hopes of a distraction. Although it’s a Wednesday, it’s packed. The dance floor is rippling with heads bopping up and down to the music, the smoke machine making the entire room hazy. He spots a guy trying to manoeuvre a tray filled with shots through the crowd, and he watches it go horribly wrong as the glasses tumble and tequila spills everywhere. He chuckles a bit when he hears the scream of the birthday girl that hit on him at the bar earlier to snitch on a free drink.

Jongho downs the rest of his beer and gets up from the table to get another. If he’s gonna have a remotely good time tonight he’ll need something stronger than this along the way. He winds between staggering people and avoids wasted splashes of alcohol to find an empty bar stool and wave his card around. He hears a glass clink hard onto the counter beside him.

“Rough night?” he asks, ordering a whiskey sour.

“Well, someone’s making out with my date, so I’d say so yeah,” the voice responds, 

Jongho turns to the boy next to him. “No way, where?” He looks in the general direction of where the other is pointing, and immediately tells the bartender he’d also like another one of those that was now empty in front of the boy.

“You don’t have to buy me a pity drink,” he scoffs.

“Yes, I do,” Jongho says while typing his pin, “because my date is the one disconnecting her jaw to devour your date.” He smiles and offers the pink drink to the other, noticing how the colour matches his hair. The boy reaches hesitantly, their fingertips overlapping for a long second. He clinks their glasses together. 

“To shitty dates,” he announces, and they take the first sip. 

Jongho learns that Yeosang here used to be an art major, and he did great, top of the class and honour student and all that. Jongho asks why he _was_ and still isn’t. Yeosang takes a huge gulp of the drink, and hesitantly tells Jongho his parents didn’t take it well when he revealed he was gay. His mother had nearly fainted, she’d taken it well enough, but his father was a man of religion and had silently gone up to Yeosang’s room to throw all his shit into a box and thrown both that and himself onto the street, with a warning of what would happen should he ever show his face again. He’d somehow ended up on the opposite side of the country and was now living with a hopeless roommate and a shabby cat, living off of the little income he got selling street art.

That initial one sip becomes more, and more becomes many as the drinks keep coming. Jongho puts down yet another empty glass and grabs Yeosang’s wrist. “This mood is killing me, let’s dance,” he slurs, the alcohol robbing him of the control he should have over his own tongue and his legs. 

Yeosang starts protesting, but by then Jongho has already dragged his ass off the bar stool and halfway across the floor. Yeosang can’t help but notice how firm, yet warm and gentle, Jongho’s grip is as he pulls him into the crowd. He doesn’t let up on the pressure until they’re in the middle of the horde of moving bodies, effectively creating a cage of skin and sweat. Standing still is harder than he’d expect, especially after the countless drinks he’s had by now, but Jongho steadies him with a barely-there hand on his hip and gives him a sweet smile. Yeosang’s intoxicated brain is focused on only one thing: _Jongho’s pretty_.

Jongho starts dancing. Yeosang is staring awkwardly at him, who actually looks like he has moves but are just too drunk to bust them properly, flailing a bit and stumbling in the tight space. Yeosang finds it cute, the way he’s immersed in the music, and smiles at a particularly bad impression of Michael Jackson’s famous hip thrusts. Jongho sees, revealing his own gummy smile back. He grabs Yeosang’s hands, waves them around to encourage him to join, making another giggle roll off his tongue.

Someone bumps into Yeosang’s back, sending him flying forward. His heart jumps out of his chest as he sees the floor rapidly growing closer, but then strong arms catch him mid-fall. He smiles up at Jongho in thanks, but swallows nervously when he notices the distance between their faces. Yeosang scolds his mind when he catches himself staring at Jongho’s lips for a whole two seconds. _Fucking hell, he really is pretty_. He shakes his head. No, Jongho came here with a girl, he’s not interested in the sad gay that is himself. He can’t, he _won’t_ , make a move, that’s just wrong and unfair.

See, Yeosang’s mind might be spinning but at least he still respects others’s boundaries.

Jongho doesn’t notice his internal battle, going back to swaying to the music and Yeosang is dragged along. He decides that the night has already been disappointing enough so he might as well just let it all go and actually have fun for once. So, he forgets about everything but the here and now on the dancefloor with Jongho. 

Somehow he ends up with another drink, and all of his worries have flown out the window, only registering strobelights and the throbbing bass and the alcohol in his blood. There’s Jongho dancing in front of him and fleeting moments escaping him as soon as they’ve passed, and he’s dancing, giving it his all, letting the music control his limbs. Jongho’s hand is on his hip possessively as he glares daggers into a stranger over Yeosang’s shoulder in a warning that screams “ _mine_ ”, but Yeosang doesn’t notice. There’s sweat and giggles and even _more_ alcohol until Yeosang feels like he’s floating in a sauna, the world spinning out of control.

Yeosang leans his body heavier against Jongho’s, their upper bodies flush against another; sometime they must have ended up so close Jongho managed to wedge a thigh between his legs and wrapped a hand around him to rest at the small of his back. His head falls onto Jongho’s shoulder, panting against his neck, Jongho’s grip tightening just that much more, and Yeosang can smell the fading cologne on his shirt, a soothing and weirdly familiar scent already. Jongho asks into his ear if he wants to get some air, voice barely audible over the music, but Yeosang nods and allows himself to be led outside. 

The chillier summer night is a huge contrast from the stuffy heat inside, the fresh air hitting him like a wall. Yeosang takes a deep breath and stretches his body, finally realising how utterly _exhausted_ he is. The sky is coloured bright red by the horizon, signalling morning’s arrival. 

“That view is fantastic,” he mumbles, eyes glinting at the colour spectre painted on the sky.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Jongho answers. 

Yeosang turns to him in agreement, but Jongho isn’t staring at the sunrise. Jongho’s eyes are on him, his face illuminated by the deep pink morning light. Yeosang meets the soft look in his eyes and offers a weak smile. For a few synced heartbeats, nobody else exists in the world, the city vacant except for the two of them. An especially cold gust of wind makes Yeosang shiver, breaking their moment. 

“Are you cold?” Jongho asks, already taking off his jacket despite Yeosang’s protests, wrapping it tightly around Yeosang’s shoulders. He thanks him quietly, but no less thankful for the action. “No worries, let’s get going,” he responds. Coincidentally, they happen to live in the same general direction.

The walk home isn’t long, maybe half an hour, but during that time, Yeosang manages to mostly sober up. Jongho had teased him for his red ears when they left the club, but now he feels a lot better. They talk about everything and nothing, pointing out places they’ve visited before and telling the stories behind them, unintentionally turning it into a competition of who has done the most embarrassing thing. 

“I auditioned once to become a trainee,” Jongho blurts, kicking a rock into the gutter.

Yeosang turns to look at him, urging him to go on. Jongho smiles before continuing. 

“Well, I did get in, but I got thrown out for hitting on a roommate not even a month later,” he chuckles awkwardly. 

“Well, that definitely beats my mom chasing me around a store as a kid refusing to put my pants back on,” he giggles. “What company expects co-ed dorms to work out?”

“It wasn’t co-ed, though,” Jongho states.

For the first time tonight, it actually hits Yeosang. He halts in front of the tiny church two blocks from his apartment, Jongho also stopping to look at him confusedly, asking if he’s alright. _Jongho isn’t straight,_ Yeosang thinks, the gears shifting in his head. The signs have been there all night, Yeosang just too oblivious and caught up in his first impression to bother looking for them.

“Jongho, can I ask you something personal?” he all but whispers, the two of them too loud in the silent Saturday dawn. 

“I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t,” he answers, and smiles, “but I can spare you from asking in the first place.” He moves closer to Yeosang, closer than deemed necessary, the latter’s heart skipping a beat when Jongho’s whisper fans across the skin of his cheek. “No, babe, I’m not straight, and yes, I swing both ways.”

Yeosang’s knees wobble. Whether that’s in relief that he still has a chance, or because of the realisation that all of those friendly gestures Jongho has shown throughout the night might have been more than _just_ friendly gestures, he doesn’t know. What he _does_ know, though, is that Jongho is now holding his hand and leaning in to peck his cheek. Although quick and barely there, Yeosang’s cheeks catch fire. 

“I’ve seen you hold back all night,” Jongho murmurs, pulling back enough to look into Yeosang’s wide eyes with his own hooded ones, “I wasn’t sure if that was because you weren’t interested,” he continues, guiding Yeosang backwards slowly, “or if I wasn’t being obvious enough.” Yeosang’s back hits the wall behind him, and he gasps, his lips grazing Jongho’s. “But I’m sure now,” he whispers, eyes locking with Yeosang’s.

Yeosang’s head is spining again. His mind is still slightly hazy from the drinks he’s had, but he makes use of it by grabbing onto Jongho’s collar. He notices Jongho’s eyes darken at the tight hold, and before he can keep up, Jongho’s mouth is on his, his tongue pushing between his lips. Yeosang can taste Jongho underneath sourness from the alcohol, the combination turning his resolution to mush, and he allows himself to be lost in Jongho, surrendering himself completely to him and letting him steer him where he wants him. 

Jongho, in turn, has never had an especially big sweet tooth, but Yeosang he would never get enough of. The pink drinks Yeosang has been drinking all night unsurprisingly tastes like sugar and artificial bubblegum, and that alone would give him cavities the size of marbles, but Yeosang layered right underneath… 

Yeosang whines when Jongho breaks the kiss. He looks at Jongho through his lashes, head leaned back against the cold concrete behind him.

“What are you doing?” he complains, failing at bringing Jongho’s lips back.

“I don’t believe in God,” he mumbles, keeping eye-contact as he leans down to flick his tongue over Yeosang’s neckvein, “but let’s show him just how beautiful sinning can sound,” Jongho growl into his ear and latches onto the soft skin of his neck, sucking harshly and hungrily at one particular spot.

Yeosang nearly yells, his hand coming around Jongho’s body to claw at his back. His leg kicks out and Jongho catches it mid-air, using the leverage to press his hips against Yeosang’s.He moans against the skin, making Yeosang shudder, then make a string of curses when he scrapes his teeth over the aching spot. 

Yeosang is sure his loud mouth has woken up the entirety of the immediate neighbourhood, but then he forgets again as Jongho captures his lips in yet another kiss. This one is slower, less heated and more passionate, and Yeosang wraps his around Jongho’s neck as their tongues glide lazily over each other. 

“Thank you,” Yeosang says under his breath when they part, Jongho giggling in return.

The porchlight comes on right above them, and they look at each other panically. Yeosang grabs Jongho’s wrist and takes off running with him stumbling behind until he catches up, both of them laughing like kids doing mischief, and Jongho swears he’s never felt more free than in this moment. They round a corner, almost bumping into an older man walking his dog and yelling an apology over their shoulders. Yeosang slows to a stop in front of a door to an apartment complex, hunched over to catch his breath for a second. 

Their hands are still clasped when Jongho approaches to connect their lips again, Yeosang leaning into the kiss and twisting the grip to tangle their fingers. He brings Jongho’s arm around to his back, where he leaves it to pull Jongho closer, until there’s not a single part of their bodies that are separated. Jongho abides to Yeosang’s wishes, hands exploring up and down his back, Yeosang jumping when one travels too far to squeeze an ass cheek.

Yeosang giggles (which might become Jongho’s favourite sound if he keeps doing it) and releases Jongho’s lip slowly. He moves to the door, twisting around in Jongho’s hold while he fumbles with the keys. Jongho revisits the side of Yeosang’s neck, nibbling until Yeosang shivers, and then the door is open. 

There’s a pause then. Jongho is hesitant. He lets go of Yeosang, who turns to look at him. Yeosang smiles and hugs Jongho.

“Last one up is a rotten egg,” he whispers and removes himself to sprint for the stairs. 

Jongho takes off after him, not even bothering to close the door behind him as he takes two stairs at a time to chase the laughing Yeosang. He catches up as Yeosang is about to unlock the door, and he grabs his waist to spin him around, pinning him against the door. Yeosang lets out a gasp when the keychain clangs against the stone floor, his arms in the air on either side of his head. 

“Got you,” Jongho mumbles and smirks.

He leans in to nip at Yeosang’s bottom lip. Yeosang sighs, hands finding Jongho’s hair, but Jongho breaks away and holds his wrists against the wooden surface. His dick twitches at the darkness in Jongho’s eyes; the determination and lust hidden behind hooded lids. Jongho drags his palms down his arms to his chest, to his stomach and waist, all the way to the back of his knees, where he picks him up like he weighed no more than a feather. 

From this angle, Yeosang can feel Jongho’s erection press against his ass. His moan is drowned into Jongho’s enthusiastic mouth, and their hips grind closer. Jongho kneels down to pick up the keys, holding Yeosang up with a wobbly arm, and Yeosang holds on to Jongho by the collar of his shirt, crinkled already from the make-out against the church wall, and before he knows in they’re inside. 

Jongho kicks the door shut behind him and throws the keys onto the table by the entrance, Yeosang’s roommate not spared a single thought as he dumps Yeosang onto the dinner table, a slap of dark wood too big for two people, but that’s not one of their concerns when Jongho grinds his clothed dick against Yeosang’s and groans. Yeosang whimpers and tries to press against it, but the table gives him terrible result for the amount of effort he’s making.

“There’s lube in the left cupboard in the bathroom,” Yeosang pants between Jongho shedding him of his shirt and him returning the favour, and Jongho grinds sideways over his crotch, gasping out a curse along a silent ‘don’t move’.

Jongho hears his heart beat in his ears as he enters the hall, quickly figuring the door left slightly open is the place he’s looking for. He turns the light on to familiarize with his surroundings and makes a beeline for the left cupboard, running his eyes over the content a few times before confirming there is no lube in said cupboard. He rummages through the drawer, still empty handed, but grabbing a condom he hopes hasn’t expired yet. His eyes land on the bottles in the shower, and after a swift look he’s on his way back. 

“Wasn’t where you said it was but I-”

Upon re-entering the living room, he almost drops the bottle. Yeosang is laying on his back, pants now on the floor and legs propped onto the edge of the table. One hand is wrapped around his dick, pumping himself lazily. The other hand has slipped a spit-slick finger into himself, working himself open and desperately trying to reach. His needy whining goes straight to Jongho’s dick, Jongho feeling the last bit of alcohol in him growing stronger, more persuasive, and then he’s in front of Yeosang. 

Jongho removes Yeosang’s finger to hastily replace it with his own lubed one, not caring to warm it first, and Yeosang gasps loudly when he pushes all the way in in one go. Yeosang’s nail dig into the wood beneath him, trying to find some kind of solid grip on it, but the hard surface doesn’t yield in the slightest. Jongho moves his finger, pulling all the way out to bask in the sight of Yeosang’s hole clenching around nothing.

“Jongho, please,” Yeosang whimpers, and he pushes back in, all the way like before.

Jongho crouches, taking in the sight from another angle, and palms himself through the jeans. The sigh he lets out fans over Yeosang’s crotch, making his cock twitch against his stomach. He grabs the base and lays his tongue flat against it, licking from the base to the tip. Yeosang moans out a cry, nails scraping against the wood. Jongho takes the tip into his mouth and twirls his tongue around the head, taking in the way Yeosang’s stomach clenches hard. Then he dives down, slowly, inch by inch, as far down as he can. He bobs his head in a steady rhythm, syncing his hand with it.

Jongho sees Yeosang’s bottom lip caught between his pearly white teeth as his back arches into the sensation of pinching his own nipple. Jongho sees the sweat on his forehead making hair stick to it, the brows scrunched to frame the pleasure in his features, and Jongho makes a mental note for Sober Jongho to not forget that _exact_ expression; maybe because it’s his pride bragging about how _he_ did _that_ or maybe because it simply makes his dick twitch against the tight jeans, but intoxicated Jongho only knows one thing.

_That’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen._

His nose hits the hairs on Yeosang’s lower abdomen. He pauses to let himself adjust and removes his finger from Yeosang’s tight hole. He lubes up another, this time taking the time to warm it, and spends the time looking up at Yeosang. He revels in the way he’s making a mess of the pink hair without even touching it, Yeosang twisting and turning enough to dishevel it further. He listens for the sound of his breath, calming down slowly, and the way he swallows, and when he least expects it, he pushes the two digits inside roughly.

Yeosang’s hips buck up into Jongho’s mouth, making him choke around his cock. He swears loudly, probably loud enough for even Yunho to wake up, but he doesn’t care. The amount of times Yunho’s brought someone home, and curse his luck he always picks the loudest ones, it’s his time for payback. 

Jongho pulls off and coughs a few times, obviously surprised by the action.

“Sorry,” Yeosang says, keeping himself from smiling, and had it not been for the amused tone of his voice, Jongho would’ve forgiven him.

Jongho throws one leg over his shoulder, rougher than necessary to get the point across. Yeosang lets out a plea for mercy, but is silenced by a sharp slap to his ass cheek. The sound resonates between the apartment walls. Jongho watches Yeosang’s wide eyes, searching for a reaction. A single tear escapes the outer corner of Yeosang’s eye when he closes them, running down his temple and disappearing into his hair.

The silence is killing Jongho. He doesn’t want to ruin this, he doesn’t want to hurt Yeosang in a way _he can’t fix_ , and his heart is beating hard out of fear of having done just that. He’s about to stop everything and apologize, explain that the heat of the moment got to him, when Yeosang mumbles something inaudible.

“What?” Jongho asks carefully.

“Please,” Yeosang whimpers, catching Jongho’s eyes through teary eyelashes, “do it again.”

Jongho’s breathing rapidly increases, and he proceeds to finger Yeosang again. Yeosang chokes on a moan at the roughness, pouring more lube and adding a third finger. 

“Your fingers- _ah_ , they’re so big ngh,” Yeosang slurs through another loud spank, “they reach so well.”

Jongho angles the hand differently with each thrust forward, searching for Yeosang’s prostate, and then he finds it with a force so strong it makes Yeosang literally _scream_. Jongho deems Yeosang ready at that, he can’t hold back any longer, and pulls his body off the table and to his feet, not able to resist kissing the living daylight out of those reddened lips, abusing the mouth making all of those sinful noises with his own, until Yeosang is left all tensed up from the intensity of it. 

As abruptly as the kiss begun, Jongho breaks away with a harsh bite to Yeosang’s bottom lip. He turns Yeosang around and pushes at the space between his shoulder blades, bending him over the table. Yeosang’s cheek is squished against the cold wood. His panting creates a damp spot beside his face, and he shivers when Jongho’s fingers drag delicately along his spine to rest at the small of his back. Jongho sighs at the sight, Yeosang sprawled out in front of him, his smooth skin against the harsh dark lumber a delightful contrast to each other.

He kicks Yeosang’s leg to the side, ragged breaths the only sound in the room, to create room for him to press closer, his cock straining against the now painfully tight jeans it’s trapped in. He leans flush again Yeosang’s ass, grinding lightly to feel _more_ , releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding in in the first place, and Yeosang moans lightly at the rough fabric rubbing against his hole.

Jongho pulls away, and Yeosang hears the rattling of a belt buckle coming undone. His heart pounds in anticipation, paying attention to the button popping open and concentrating so much on the fly being pulled down he could almost count every single tooth of the zipper. There’s rustling, something landing against the floor softly, plastic being ripped, the click of the lube. Then there’s slick sounds and Jongho humming in pleasure. And then, and then…

And then Jongho’s hand grips his hip firmly, the other pressing against his back, and there’s a kiss to his shoulder. Yeosang’s breath shallows, this is it, it’s happening, oh God how long he has waited-

And _then_ , Jongho’s tip presses into him. His eyes roll to the back of his head, mouth hanging open, and Jongho’s nails dig into his back in the best way. Jongho takes a breath, and pushes in further, _deeper_ , and the stretch is incredible and so tight. Yeosang waits for Jongho’s hips to meet his ass, and he waits, patiently, while Jongho continues to push into him, filling him up until he nearly can’t take it, and he curls his fist into a tight ball. 

“ _Fuck, Yeosang_ ,” Jongho chokes out.

Jongho bottoms out and pauses. His head comes down to rest against Yeosang’s back, his hair tickling his sides and making him want to squirm, but it only makes Jongho’s cock twitch inside him, putting just that extra pressure against his prostate.

“Holy shit,” Jongho mumbles, “you’re so goddamn tight, oh my God.”

Yeosang swallows and licks his lips. “I thought you weren’t religious,” he whines back.

Jongho chuckles amusedly. “You good?” he asks and gets back up when Yeosang nods.

Jongho holds onto both of his hips as he slides out a little and rocks back forward. He repeats the motion slowly, earning a steady stream of sighs and soft moans from Yeosang, and it drives him on, pulling out a bit more than the last time and going a little harder with each thrust back in. The pace gradually picks up like that, inch by inch, until their skins slaps together harshly and unforgiving.

Yeosang chokes on air when Jongho spanks him again, hard enough to create a handprint that’ll last until long after Yeosang wakes up, and he groans at the way Yeosang’s body clenches around him. There are no words between them, there’s no time to voice them even if they had any. There’s only hips snapping against ass cheeks, loud moans and grunts, and the occasional profanity filling the living room. 

Jongho fucks mercilessly into Yeosang, who can feel excess lube run down his thigh and cooling fast, desperately chasing his orgasm like his life depends on it. Jongho struggles to angle himself upward to Yeosang’s prostate, and judging by the cry he lets out on the third attempt, he guesses he found what he’s looking for. The new volume to the sounds drawn from Yeosang drives him to go faster, harder, his body screaming at him but his mind doesn’t take notice of anything other than the knot forming in him. 

Yeosang’s legs start to shake. His breathing turns irregular, his nails scratching lines into the table top. His moans are loud, high-pitched, and he’s close, so _close_ , and desperate for release, he hasn’t felt this restless and spent and utterly _wrecked_ in who knows how long, and he wants, _needs_ , to come right now -

And he does. Jongho bites into his shoulder to muffle his own cry of pleasure when Yeosang clenches around him harder than ever before. His hips doesn’t let up, lets them both ride it out until his own dick is starting to hurt. He pulls out to flop over Yeosang’s back, breathing hard and leaving soft presses of his lips. They stay like this for one minute, two minutes, before Yeosang nudges him to move. He straightens back up, dizzy and exhausted, and helps Yeosang peel off the table, the sweat making his skin stick. 

Yeosang kisses him, soft lips against his own, tongues caressing each other like they have all the time in the world. Yeosang is the first to pull away.

“I hate to ruin the moment, but we need to get cleaned up,” he mumbles, drowsiness starting to set in, “there’s wet wipes in my room, first door to the right.”

Jongho pecks his nose, and he giggles (oh god the giggle) before heading down the hall on his second mission for the night. Day? Morning? He’s lost track of time. He easily spots the pack of wet wipes and heads back, helping to clean up a Yeosang who is too tired to be embarrassed, and also the edge of the table and the floor under it where Yeosang made a mess. (Who knew someone could reach that far?)

Once deemed clean enough by Yeosang, Jongho grabs their clothes and lets himself be guided to Yeosang’s room where he’s handed a shirt that might fit him and lend a pair of fresh underwear, and then they’re stumbling under the covers. They make out for a bit, enjoying each other’s proximity, before Jongho is left listening to Yeosang’s sleeping breath. He takes in the still pink cheeks, his slightly parted lips and brushes a pink lock out of his eyes, and the last thing he remembers is the fruity smell of Yeosang’s hair.

Yeosang wakes with a groan. He swipes at whatever is tickling his nose, the action causing his head to pound, and he rolls onto his back. He puts an arm over his eyes to block out even the minimal light let in by the door left ajar. Smacking his lips, his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth. He should go get water, but the thought of getting up is absolutely not on the top of his to do list today. What day is it even?

Yeosang rolls back over to reach for his phone on the nightstand, hand searching the surface without luck. He cracks one eye open with his nose buried in the pillow (has it always smelled like that?) just to double check, and true enough, his phone isn’t there. He figures he left it in the living room last night and forces himself up. The pain in his back paralyzes his mind and he slumps back against the sheets with a strangled whine.

A shadow falls over the door before it’s pushed open. The light blinds Yeosang for a second, but he notices the silhouette is too small to be Yunho. 

“Good afternoon,” Jongho chuckles, “rough night?”

 _Jongho._

The events of yesterday flood back to Yeosang in a big wave, from entering the club and meeting his piece of shit date, to said piece of shit date leaving him to make out with a random girl, to ending up drinking his sorrows away and meeting Jongho, who made him giggle more in one night than he’s done in a year, who danced with him, who followed him home and kissing him against a church, who made him cry with pleasure and who stayed the night.

 _He stayed,_ Yeosang repeats in his thoughts, _he stayed even though he told me he never does._

“Oh uh, yeah,” he croaks out, voice raspy from sleep.

Jongho smiles at that. “I took the freedom to shower, I hope that’s okay,” he says, drying at his still wet hair.

Yeosang nods. “I should probably shower too, but I don’t think I’d be able to walk there,” he chuckles, his cheeks heating up from the easy confession.

Jongo sits down on the bed beside him to hold Yeosang’s chin, and leans down to connect their lips in a short and sweet kiss, not minding the morning breath one single bit. Still holding Yeosang’s face, he locks eyes with him and smirks. “You don’t think?” he murmurs, eyelids heavy as he regards the way Yeosang’s entire face turns a deep shade of red. “Why don’t we make sure you absolutely, definitely _can’t_?”

Yeosang slaps his hands over his face to hide his embarrassment, whining out Jongho’s name in distress. Jongho just laughs, and Yeosang realises it’s the first time he’s actually heard it properly, without background noise. It somehow warms him from the inside out, and he can’t help but smile sheepishly at the feeling. 

“Where do you stock painkillers? I’ll go get you some, and a glass of water,” Jongho says and pats Yeosang’s thigh through the covers.

“Kitchen, the cupboard over the coffee machine.”

Jongho swoops down to steal another peck before disappearing out of the room again. Yeosang listens to his bare feet padding across the floor, and he can’t help how his lips tingle for a little while after they’ve faded into the kitchen. 

_Jongho stayed._

He mindlessly reaches for the shirt closest to him on the floor to pull it over his head, and forces himself over to the closet to find a pair of sweats for both himself and Jongho, who can’t walk around in a towel all day. 

He enters the kitchen to Jongho scratching behind Missy’s ear, the black cat purring loudly when Jongho pours more food into her bowl. The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills his nose, his hangover instantly getting better. He leans against the counter and downs the painkillers along with the entire glass of water. He stands like that for a few seconds, just observing the two in the corner with interest. 

He throws the sweats at Jongho’s back, who turns to him confusedly. He thanks him and steps into them, in the middle of the kitchen floor. Yeosang giggles at that, getting another questioning look from Jongho, but Yeosang just shakes his head. 

“What?” Jongho asks.

“It’s nothing,” Yeosang replies, amusement coating his tone, and hands him a cup of the coffee.

They take the first sips in silence, blowing gently to cool it down, but it’s not awkward. Yeosang wants to cancel the brain cell that tells him it feels strangely domestic. 

“Do you, uh… Are you doing anything today?” Yeosang asks hesitantly, not exactly sure where he wants this to go.

Jongho shakes his head. “No, not really,” he answers.

Yeosang nods. There’s a pause where they both drink from their cups.

“Are you?” Jongho queries, his voice small and fingers fidgeting with the cup handle.

“Am I what?”

Jongho smiles, nervousness disappeared in an instant. “Are you doing anything today?” 

Yeosang’s mouth forms an ‘o’. He vigorously shakes his head a few times, “no”.

Jongho finishes his cup. Yeosang brings the can quickly when he’s about to get up. “So uh,” he mumbles while the brown liquid pours, the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth, “do you wanna play Mario Kart?”

Jongho’s face scrunches up into a disbelieving laugh. It trickles off his tongue like a stream, filling up Yeosang’s heart bit by bit. 

“Only if I get to be Bowser,” he challenges, studying Yeosang over the rim of the cup.

“Hah, Princess Peach is gonna beat your ass,” Yeosang smiles back.

And that’s how they end up on the floor in front of the tv, pushing each other off of Rainbow Road. Jongho objects loudly in frustration when Yeosang hits him with a blue shell right before the finish line and zooms past to get first place, but the happy (and slightly evil, but who can blame him) giggle makes his stomach flutter. He pinches hard right above Yeosang’s knee, and he crumbles into his lap in a squeal followed by more laughter, and Jongho can’t help the soppy smile his face breaks into. 

Yeosang stops laughing. He’s staring softly up at Jongho, whose smile only grows. 

“What?” he asks, but Yeosang shakes his head.

Their stare becomes silent once more, smiles fading as Yeosang brings his hand up to Jongho’s face. He strokes a thumb gently along Jongho’s cheekbone, while Jongho brushes a piece of hair out of his eyes. Jongho stirs, leaning down to press his lips softly against Yeosang’s, barely there but still enough to make his body prickle with tiny electrical impulses. 

Yeosang pecks the tip of Jongho’s nose when they part. “Loser has to suck off the winner?” he proposes, glint in his eye and the corners of his mouth rising into a sly grin.

“Pull up Moonview Highway and watch me leave you in the dust,” Jongho chuckles back and kisses Yeosang a last time. 

Yeosang takes the challenge eagerly, the hours upon hours he’s obliterated Yunho (who is surprisingly useless when it comes to Mario Kart despite excelling at every other video game in existence) pulling at his shoulders and lifting his head high with confidence. He’s got this.

Correction: he hasn’t got this. 

Jongho does, in fact, ‘leave him in the dust’ after the first round, even passes him before they’re halfway, and is now stretching to go sit on the couch. Hands behind his head and legs spread exaggeratingly wide, Yeosang doesn’t even have to see Jongho’s face to feel the smug look he’s wearing. 

“Oh, stop brooding,” Jongho complains amusedly, “this was your idea to begin with.”

“I’ll bite your fucking dick if you don’t shut up,” Yeosang pouts, sticking his bottom lip out even further and crossing his arms over his chest to appear extra sulky, even though his dick twitches in his sweats. 

“You’re not gonna bite my dick,” Jongho smiles, clearly entertained by rubbing his victory in Yeosang’s face.

Jongho raises his eyebrows at him as if he hasn’t got all day (lies, they have no plans), and finally Yeosang gives in with a huff. He crawls on all four, slowly, just to make sure he has Jongho’s full attention.

“I so am biting your dick,” he forewarns, getting onto his knees.

He hooks his fingers into Jongho’s (his) waistband to tug the sweats completely off, Jongho lifting his hips to help. His cock is almost fully hard already, and Yeosang’s mouth water just a bit at eyeing the dark pink head. He catches Jongho’s eyes, which resemble black holes before they’ve even started anything, and runs his hands up his legs. Making sure his nails drag across the sensitive insides of Jongho’s thighs, he leans in to kiss and lick at the head.

Jongho struggles to keep the eye contact, eventually faltering when Yeosang takes the tip into his mouth and holding the base firmly. Yeosang turns his head slightly to the side, taking in more of Jongho's dick until his cheek bulges, tongue massaging wherever it can reach. Jongho's arms fall down, one tangling into Yoesang's pink locks on instinct, the other to his jaw, fingertips brushing along his jawline as he repeats the action.

"Holy fuck, Yeosang," Jongho moans out, his thumb tracing over the stretched cheek, and he shudders at feeling himself through the flesh.

Yeosang pulls off, circling his tongue around the tip and toying with the slit, making Jongho throw his head back in a shudder. Yeosang leaves a fat stripe of saliva along the underside of his cock from base to head, the sound escaping Jongho fuelling the fire in his own stomach. He lets drool run down his tongue to coat the head of Jongho's dick, using his hand to distribute it evenly. 

"Yunho left for work this morning, he'll probably be back soon," Yeosang breathes out between kisses along the shaft, whimpering slightly when Jongho's hand tightens in his hair.

"O- okay," Jongho pants in response, and Yeosang isn't sure the words even registered in his brain in the first place.

Yeosang decides to take matters into his own hands, or rather _mouth_ , and wraps his lips around Jongho again, this time not teasing as he goes further, _lower_ , until he bottoms out. After a few seconds of adjusting and listening to Jongho's breath hitching three inhales in a row, he starts setting a pace, slow to begin with. Jongho moans, raw from the very back of his throat, when Yeosang hollows his cheeks on the way up.

Jongho dares a peek at Yeosang, and immediately regrets it. His eyes are blown and glassed over, unshed tears tangled into his eyelashes glittering like stars under the damp bangs, cheeks coloured a sort of innocent pink that totally contradicts the downright filthy deed he's doing. Jongho bites into his bottom lip hard to not come from the sight alone, letting his thumb wander over the stretched lips. His entire body is burning, toes curling when Yeosang swallows and _oh god_ his _mouth_ , the wonders it work on his leaking cock. His stomach coils, twists and flips in a tangle of heat, and he knows he's gonna come embarrassingly fast at this rate.

Yeosang grabs onto Jongho's hips for better leverage and, creating little crescent-shaped dents right at the hip bones, he drags his teeth along the vein on the underside of Jongho's dick. 

Jongho howls. His hand tugs at Yeosang's hair roughly without meaning to, pulling his mouth back down in one rough motion, and Yeosang gags hard before pulling off to gasp for air. 

"Oh shit, I'm sorry I didn't mean to-," Jongho rambles, worried he might've hurt him.

"I told you I'd bite your fucking dick," Yeosang coughs out, smirking up at Jongho, who can't help but bark out a laugh at that.

"Yeah yeah, now if you don't mind my dick is hurting from missing those lips and your roommate might be back soon or whatever, so do you mind finishing?" 

"Not at all," Yeosang rubs his hands together, eyeing the dick like it's a math puzzle before reaching out a hand.

Jongho's relieved sigh gets cut short, though, when Yeosang's hand pulls back just as quickly. He looks down at an expectant Yeosang who looks like he has something to say.

"Can you come on my face?"

Jongho chokes on his spit. Yeosang stares at him patiently with wide, angelic eyes as he coughs, and Jongho can't believe that question just escaped those sweet lips. 

Scratch that, he does believe. Not in God, but in Kang Yeosang's lips. Seems enough a relic as anything else.

"Yeosang, I swear you're gonna make me yeet out the window if you don-"

"Great!" 

Yeosang dives down, taking all of Jongho at once and setting a fast pace from the get-go. Jongho is taken completely by surprise, and suddenly his body is acting on its own accord, squirming and shifting uncontrollably as Yeosang _sucks_ , giving it his all until Jongho is vibrating. Jongho's nails scrape against Yeosang's scalp, and he moans loudly around Jongho, the vibrations reverberating throughout Jongho's entire system. The sensations are overwhelming, his mind flooding with curses and other profanities, and he barely manages to find the words to stutter a warning that he's getting close. Yeosang immediately pulls off, pumping away with his hand.

"Jongho," he breathes, "look at me."

Jongho looks. And not a second too late.

His orgasm hits hard, like he's been hit by an oncoming train, and suddenly he's entered another dimension. There's stars and fireworks and white static noise, but none of that matters.

What matters is the sight he caught a glimpse of before all that.

Inside Jongho's mind, the images of Yeosang's eyes fluttering shut and his tongue sticking out is replaying over and over again. He sees himself come, white streaks landing onto tan skin, mixing with sweat on Yeosang's forehead and the spit on his chin. He hears his own groan, and Yeosang's yelp.

Jongho takes a few deep breaths, head leaned back against the top of the couch to calm his pounding heart. He feels Yeosang's hands leave him, and lifts his head in curiosity of where he's going. He's met by shining eyes and a content smile. Jongho inwardly screams.

"Shit, Yeosang, don't fucking- oh fuck," Jongho groans. 

_There’s cum mixed with the tears in his eyelashes_. 

A fat drop has run down his nose and is about to enter a free fall to the floor. Jongho reaches out a finger to catch it, holding it in front of Yeosang for him to lick it off. Yeosang, who apparently doesn't do anything halfway, Jongho realises, grabs his wrist with both hands and suck on the entire finger, that filthy tongue cleaning it one time too many to be deemed necessary. 

"Get up here," Jongho sighs, patting his lap. 

Yeosang climbs up, straddling Jongho's waist. Jongho pulls his shirt off and uses it to clean Yeosang’s face carefully as if suddenly scared to break him. It doesn’t matter that he was choking on his dick mere minutes ago, right now he’s fragile and should be handled with care. 

In the middle of their quiet moment, the door bursts open. They both jump to their feet in alarm to see a tall guy push through, a huge bag in each arm and a bun stuffed into his mouth. He drops them onto the floor with heavy thuds, his back cracking loudly when he stretches and grunts into the bun. The guy glances at them for a brief moment, but it takes him a bit longer to realise that there’s two people and has to do a double take. There’s an awkward silence as Yunho (presumably?) processes the setting. He removes the bun with long, slender fingers. 

“Yeosang,” he calls, “you’ve got something, like, there,” he finishes, gesturing to his lip.

“Oh,” Yeosang’s tongue darts out to lick it away, “thanks.”

There’s another silence where Yunho? stares at them both with narrow eyes, taking another bite from his snack. His eyes wander over Jongho, only now noticing he’s shitless and sweats hanging too low on one side. Then his eyes widen to the size of dinner platters, falling into a heavy coughing fit as realisation dawns.

“Did you fuck on the goddamn living room couch too?!”

Jongho is at a loss, not having a clue what to answer, mouth opening and closing like he’s a fish on land, fumbling to find words. So he had heard them last night.

“Nah, he beat me at Moonview Highway so I sucked him off and he came on my face,” Yeosang explains calmly, sounding like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. 

Yunho gasps in shock at the statement, the mouthful he’d taken blocking off his air supply and he panics. Jongho moves over to pat his back forcefully, the traitorous piece of pastry dislodging. Yunho needs a moment before he can speak again. Jongho reaches his hand out.

“Uh hi,” he mumbles uncomfortably, “I’m Jongho.”

Yunho regards his hand for a second before using his index finger and thumb to hold his wrist in a improvised hand shake, which is fair enough considering what his hands have done.

“I’m moving the fuck out,” Yunho grumbles and picks his bags up, heading for what Jongho guesses is his room.

“This is your apartment, dumbass,” Yeosang calls after him as he’s stowing away the game.

“Not for long, Jizzy McCumFace!” Yunho yells over his shoulder before his door closes.

Yeosang and Jongho stares at each other for approximately two seconds before losing it in a fit of laughter. 

“Let’s make brownies.”

By the time it’s ready to go into the oven, they realise they forgot to turn it on in the first place, which is fine because half the batter is halfway gone anyways after their session of play fighting. Jongho feels sticky from the random streaks of chocolate on his neck and face, and Yeosang surely feels the same, seeing as he’s covered in at least as much where he’s sitting on the kitchen bench.

Jongho goes to stand between his leg and wrap his arms loosely around Yeosang’s waist, licking away the brownie batter left on the bridge of his nose. Yeosang giggles against his lips, and Jongho is absolutely sure now that it _is_ his favourite sound in the world. When they kiss delicately, the tip of Yeosang’s tongue tastes of sugar and rich chocolate, but Jongho has developed a preference for _Yeosang_ , so he tilts his head to deepen it. It’s slow, sensual, feeling, and it makes Jongho’s heart race, and despite the pace it leaves them breathless.

Yeosang leans his head onto Jongho’s shoulder, slumping against his body and Jongho hugs him closer by the waist. Jongho appreciates the peace that settles over them, and it suddenly hits him just how little he worries about anything else when Yeosang is around. The calm atmosphere is broken, however, when Yeosang licks away at a sweet spot on his neck. 

Jongho ends up fucking him right there on the counter, brownies forgotten in favour of other more appealing desserts. They vaguely hear Yunho wailing ‘not the kitchen’ through the closed door when Jongho hooks one of Yeosang’s legs over his arm and hits the spot just right, and they laugh evilly at the misery they’re making him go through. Yeosang does ensure him that he doesn’t actually give a shit, though. Probably.

Jongho carries Yeosang to the bathroom like he’s a koala, opting for a bath rather than a shower. He fills the tub, uses maybe a lot too much soap in it, but it makes Yeosang giggle when he rubs it into his hair in the shape of a heart, so he thinks it’s fine. More than fine really, judging by the way Yeosang blushes under Jongho’s unintentionally long fond stare. 

There’s a familiar mischievous glint in Yeosang’s eye a split second before Jongho is doused in water. He jumps in surprise, falling off the bathroom stool (which Yeosang insists isn’t there so he’s able to reach the stuff Yunho puts on the top shelf) and scrambles to splash Yeosang back. Yeosang has other plans, however, and grabs his arm to yank him into the water with a yelp. 

Jongho sputters and grimaces at the taste of soap in his mouth while Yeosang laughs so hard his eyes are tearing up. Jongho has no intention of suffering alone, though, so he takes the laugh as an open invitation to shove his own tongue down Yeosang’s throat to share the flavour. Yeosang fights against him for a couple of seconds, but then Jongho drags his tongue over the roof of his mouth the way that makes his knees weak, and he melts into it. 

They stay like that, lazily making out with Jongho still fully dressed between Yeosang’s legs, for what feels like hours and not enough at the same time. During the next hour, Jongho’s exploring hands find the right places to squeeze or the best patches of skin to drag his nails over until Yeosang is bucking against him. Jongho swallows every cry and moan through the handjob, making it all about Yeosang this time, even if he insists on returning it. 

By the time the bathtub is drained and Yeosang is wrapped in a big towel, it’s midnight. They order takeout from Yeosang’s favourite ramen place and eats it inside the blanket they’re sharing, a soft cocoon protecting them from the scary outside world of murderers and Yunho’s snide comment and fake gags at them being ‘too sweet for him to handle’. They watch some soppy romance movie, and Yeosang teases Jongho for crying at the end, but later leans further into Jongho to shed a few happy tears of his own.

It’s almost 3AM when they finally scramble to bed. They don’t sleep right away, but talks silently between themselves as they study each other’s faces propped up on the pillow, at least not Jongho, whose fingertips are starting to remember the dips and curves of Yeosang’s face by muscle memory as he snores softly. Jongho smiles and shuffles a bit closer to rest his chin on top of the pink locks, falling asleep to the sound of Yeosang’s steady breath.

Jongho dreams that night. Of seeing the world from above, from a height he’s never been at, but he’s not falling. He’s flying. He can see tiny houses and roads winding between them as thin as a sewing thread. There’s forests and fields, only patches in various shades of green like in a quilt. There’s mountains looking like uneven fangs, and lakes glittering under the sun. 

Jongho looks up, at rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds like spotlights, and catches something disappearing up through the white layer. He feels compelled to follow it, to chase it down and hold it close, so he does. His heart beats harder as he approaches, suddenly afraid it’ll hurt, but once he’s inside the whole world is shut off. He keeps going, not slowing down in the slightest, and then he’s through. 

Eyes wide in wonder, he takes in the crystal blue skies. It’s more beautiful than he ever thought, just crisp air and a shining sun. A hand intertwines with his, and he looks to his side.

He opens his eyes to Yeosang staring at him. Jongho inspects his face, like he’s seeing it for the first time and he gets lost in those warm eyes of his. His heart jumps at the way they crinkle when Yeosang giggles, shyly hiding deeper under the cover, but still reaching out with his thumb to wipe away a tear threatening to escape the corner of Jongho’s eye. 

The gentle touch brings him back, a tiny smile pulling at his lips. Jongho nuzzles into Yeosang’s neck, lips brushing a dark bruise lovingly, knowingly letting his bangs tickle the sensitive skin just so he can hear that giggle again. He’s never gonna get enough of that sound.

“Jongho,” Yeosang murmurs into the silence, and Jongho hums in response.

Jongho lets his forehead rest against Yeosang’s, their eyes connecting over the bridges of their noses. Yeosang leans in to kiss him softly, just for a few seconds, separating them with a sigh. Jongho holds him closer, their legs tangling under the covers, and for a quiet moment they just _feel_ , enjoying each other’s presence and listening for the other’s heartbeat. Jongho’s stomach clenches, Yeosang in his thoughts the cause of it, every little movement making his heart fuller until it’s about to run over with emotion. 

And even though he’s going for a simple kiss, something he’s done a thousand times and usually thinks nothing of, his heart is bursting. Because when it comes to Yeosang, it seems like nothing is the same. Accidental touches are never accidental, stolen glances are deliberately caught, and Jongho is always in need of being _closer_ somehow, in a way words aren’t fit to describe. Jongho desperately wants to convey just that, with this simple kiss, but the struggle of not knowing if Yeosang understands, truly _understands_ , that drives him crazy.

Yeosang moves his lips, Jongho holding his face tenderly, and lets him take control. He sets a slow pace, one of devotion rather than desire, and Jongho finds himself relaxing into it, Yeosang the only thing existing. 

Jongho’s body moves on its own accord when his thumb finds the heated skin of his hip bone. It draws random patterns and shapes, sneaking further around to roll him over onto his back. Yeosang brings Jongho with him, arms wrapped firmly around his neck to prevent him from breaking the kiss as he climbs on top to lay flush against Yeosang, who spreads his legs to accommodate him. Jongho leans on his elbows to not crush Yeosang, but he’s tugged down. 

Yeosang hums and reaches under the covers, lifting Jongho’s shirt without taking it off. Jongho furrows his brows in confusion, but then Yeosang’s shirt moves too and he gasps. His naked stomach meets the hot skin of Yeosang’s and he hisses out a curse into the crook of his neck, the smell of him freshly woken up clouding his mind. Yeosang’s growing bulge hardens by the second, starting to press against dip between his thigh and his groin.

Jongho holds Yeosang’s hips still, grinding his own against them and plants a sweet, open-mouthed kiss to Yeosang’s neck. A strained whine escapes Yeosang, his fingers holding onto Jongho’s shoulders just a little harder, enough for the skin underneath to yield under the pressure. Jongho’s kisses travel across the skin, mapping a route to his face, and continuing, from his jawline to his cheek and the corner of his mouth. There, he pulls back to nudge his nose against Yeosang’s.

As the third attempt at reconnecting their lips are denied by Jongho, Yeosang flops back against the pillow with a pout. 

“What’s wrong, Sangie?” Jongho chuckles, ghosting over his bottom lip, but Yeosang refuses him any more access. “Don’t be like that,” he complains, sticking his own lip out.

Yeosang still refuses him. Jongho bites at Yeosang’s lip, grinding his dick right against Yeosang’s, and Yeosang draws a sharp breath.

“There we go,” Jongho mumbles triumphantly with a smirk, finally kissing Yeosang like he means it. 

It doesn’t take long until Yeosang starts bucking his hips up into Jongho, obviously thinking he’s taking too much time to get on with it. Jongho takes the hint and rids them of their shirts, nibbling along Yeosang’s collarbone as he struggles with the pyjama bottoms. Yeosang helps kick them off, as well as Jongho’s, and sooner rather than later they’re both naked once more. 

Jongho reaches for the nightstand drawer, searching for the necessities. He finds the bottle of lube fairly easy, but no condom. He huffs.

“I’ll go to the bathroom to fetch one,” he says, already pulling away the covers. 

“No!” Yeosang protests, holding on to Jongho’s surprised face with both hands. “No,” he whispers against his lips, and looks at Jongho abashedly, “please, let me feel you.”

Jongho’s entire body heats up. His mind is in a constant state of white static noise, any and all rational thoughts thrown out the window. He would be asking Yeosang if he was sure, but the sincere resolution in his eyes says everything he needs to hear. 

Jongho’s heart is beating fast, and he realises he’s actually _nervous_. This is the first time he’s not using a condom, being the ever cautious creature he is. He expected to feel more… uncomfortable with the proposal, but somehow he’s relieved Yeosang wants to. He doesn’t know why. (A lie, of course, he knows it’s because it’s Yeosang asking.)

Jongho takes it slow when fingering Yeosang open. He’s gentle, leaving kisses and little love bites everywhere, until his entire chest resembles a chess board. He’s breathing heavily, moaning softly under his breath, and it isn’t until Jongho adds a third finger he becomes aware that it’s _his name_ falling from Yeosang’s lips so easily. The realisation brings a wave of electricity through Jongho’s body, and he rubs the tips of his fingers straight over Yeosang’s prostate to make him shudder on a deep inhale.

Yeosang’s hand gropes for Jongho, who lets himself be guided higher for a kiss. It’s deep and passionate and _wanting_ , Yeosang holding onto his bottom lip with his teeth when they part, releasing it slowly. 

“Jongho,” Yeosang breathes out, gazing at him through heavy eyelids, and Jongho understands.

He slicks himself up, breathing out raggedly at finally getting touched, and lines up against Yeosang’s entrance.

“Ready?” Jongho hisses, the heat against the head of his cock already making his voice falter.

Yeosang nudges his hips closer with a whiny nod, and Jongho takes a breath to calm his racing heart. Oh my God, why is he so nervous? He leans on to the right arm, using his left to hold the base of his dick. _This is it._

Jongho pushes in. And his right arm crumbles under him. He falls into Yeosang’s clavicle with a gasp, hands fisting into the sheets. He knew it’d feel different, but _holy shit_ did he never imagine it could feel like this. It’s raw and intense and _fuck_ he’s gonna come in no time like this. 

Yeosang’s nails scratch against his shoulder blades, and he moves again. He pushes in further, hearing the way Yeosang’s breath catches once he bottoms out, and takes a moment to let him adjust. Jongho’s dick twitches, this amplified sensation hitting with a whole new magnitude and sending his mind into a frenzy. He can _feel_ Yeosang’s heartbeat around himself.

Jongho leans up too kiss Yeosang, licking at the seam of his mouth to invite himself in. Yeosang willingly opens up, Jongho kissing him deep and slow as he grinds his hips in a circle, and Yeosang whimpers against his lips. Jongho starts thrusting carefully, the arms holding him up shaking wildly with every inch he moves, until he needs to pull away to breathe. He sets a steady pace, keeping it unhurried to truly enjoy how Yeosang feels around him properly, but still enough to have them panting.

It’s quiet, no loud gasps or cries of pleasure. Instead it’s their breaths, soft moans and each other’s names spoken against skin between brief kisses. Yeosang’s hands are touching everywhere, roaming non-stop over taut muscles, sensing how they flex and relax under the tan skin. Jongho pushes the damp bang out of Yeosang’s eyes, wanting to actually see him as he lets the other hand trail along his body to hike a leg up. 

The new angle allows him to go even deeper, his thrust knocking the air out of his own lungs. He stills with a shudder to catch his breath. He starts up again with a newfound resolve, Yeosang huffing out silent pleas as Jongho’s dick brushes against his prostate. Jongho’s abdomen is tightening, his vision going blurry from the buildup, and he wraps his fingers around Yeosang’s leaking cock. Yeosang jostles with a moan, arching into the hand. His hips stutter as he tries to follow both rhythms, fucking both up into Jongho and down on his dick at the same time. 

Jongho rests his forehead against Yeosang’s, panting into each other’s mouths more than actually kissing. Yeosang is closing in on his orgasm fast, gasping for air as he’s vibrating under Jongho. Jongho’s intense eyes meet Yeosang’s equally blown ones, and it takes one, two, three strokes before Yeosang is sent hurtling over the edge. He comes with a loud ‘Jongho!’, which Jongho swallows. Yeosang clenches around him, and he follows suit, groaning as he lets them both ride it out.

Jongho pulls out to flop next to Yeosang, who immediately snuggles into his arms. They’re silent, both of them too busy coming down from their highs to fathom any kind of coherent sentence. Jongho throws the covers to the end of the bed, suddenly feeling too hot. He wraps around Yeosang, kissing the top of his head where he lies limp in his hold, pliant and boneless against stained cotton sheets. 

“Yeosang,” Jongho rasps out, voice still clad by sleep. When Yeosang groans in response, he continues, “you should go shower.”

“Don’t wanna,” he grumbles back, hiding closer into Jongho’s chest, “just five more minutes.”

Jongho grins at the childish tone. “Okay, then what if I shower first, and then go out to get food while you get cleaned up? Deal?” 

Yeosang hums. Jongho untangles from the arms anchoring him to the mattress and leaves with one last peck to Yeosang’s nose, catching the little smile on his face as he walks through the door. He showers quickly, not wanting to waste too much hot water. Luckily his own clothes are already dry after being washed yesterday morning and he pulls them on.

Although not too known in the neighbourhood, he finds a corner store pretty easily and buys a few types of cup ramen and some sweet bread, thinking it’ll be of Yeosang’s taste. He’s back in no time, seeing Yunho close the door to his own room with a sleepy face and a huge bowl of cereal. Jongho can hear the shower running, so he leaves the grocery bag on the kitchen table and boils enough water for two. 

While Yeosang showers, Jongho takes the opportunity to look around for a bit. There’s a bookshelf full of classics, plastic boxes that are packed with art supplies and decorative objects. There’s a photo of another guy, presumably a much younger Yunho, smiling with what would probably be his parents. There’s none of Yeosang, but on second glance, he notices a baby photo. It somewhat resembles Yeosang, but he’s not completely sure. 

Jongho continues to skim over the book titles, wondering who they belong to, when he catches glimpse of canvases stacked against the wall. The one in front is a painting of an elderly woman sitting on a bench in the park, feeding pigeons. Her coat and hat is burgundy, complimenting the autumn scenery around her. The city landscape should be bustling in the background, but it compliments the lake behind her instead; mirror still and silent, as if the places don’t belong together. It’s strangely remote, bordering to lonely. He flips to the next. 

A homeless man slumped against a brick wall, a dented aluminum can placed beside him. The sole of his boot has peeled back at the toe, separated completely from the rest at the shoe itself, revealing worn grey woollen socks inside. The painting feels cold, neon signs reflected in the wet concrete the man’s sitting on, the man himself huddled together in his stained hoodie.

He’s staring at the third one when Yeosang gets back. It’s a worker girl on a street corner, cigarette in hand. The light from the street lamp illuminates her from above, forming a yellowish cone in the dark surroundings. Her hair is a dishevelled mess, fishnets ripped at the thigh, high heels and short skirt. Her expression is hard, emotionless and closed off, and the dark bruise blooming around her eye and the burst lip tells that she’s been dealing with this too long for her young age.

“These are amazing, Yeosang,” Jongho exclaims when Yeosang approaches him.

“Yeah, they turned out alright,” he mumbles, returning to drying his hair with a towel as he walks over to turn on the tv.

“Alright?” Jongho repeats. “Literally anyone can paint a stick figure, a lot can paint a person,” he says, following Yeosang into the kitchen, “but only a few very gifted people can paint a mood.”

Yeosang rummages through the cupboard over the sink for a bowl and the box of cereal, humming in response to Jongho. He shakes the box in Jongho’s direction, looking at him expectantly. “Want some?” 

“No, I don’t want any- oh for fuck’s sake,” Jongho crosses the kitchen in two big strides and snatches the cereal out of Yeosang’s hand, spilling some in the process.

“Wha- I just vacuumed two days ago!” Yeosang complains, but Jongho ignores his protests.

“Yeosang,” he says, his tone serious as he catches Yeosang’s eyes, “you have a real talent for this, you should pursue it. Like, make a proper career out of this. The way you see things, the people, that everyone else actively avoids looking at, that’s exactly what this world needs.”

Yeosang shifts between looking at Jongho’s left and right eye, hesitant being put on the spot like this. He silently reaches for the cereal, Jongho releasing it without a fuzz, and pours more into his bowl. He gets milk from the fridge, Jongho having to back away for him to get the door open. When Jongho sees no sign of a coming response, he speaks up again. 

“Yeosang-”

Yeosang cuts him off, his bowl hitting the counter almost so hard the porcelain cracks. “I know what you’re gonna say, Jongho! Don’t you think I’ve tried? I love what I’m doing, and I’d live off of it if I could, but there’s no place in that business for someone like me!” 

He picks up his bowl and brushes past Jongho while he’s still stunned from the little outburst and out of the kitchen, but the next second Jongho’s at his heels again. They end up on the couch. Yeosang puts the bowl on the table in favour of flipping through the channels searching for something remotely interesting to escape the conversation.

“What do you mean ‘someone like you’?” Jongo reaches to hold Yeosang’s cheeks, looking into his eyes intently. 

Yeosang pulls away, and Jongho’s heart aches. “You wouldn’t understand, just drop it,” he mutters. 

Yeosang fixes his eyes onto the floor, barely catching the way Jongho’s arms fall to his sides. He feels the tears press on, but he wills them down. Jongho can’t see him break down. Not now. Not over this.

“I don’t know what happened last time, but I want to help you,” Jongho mumbles, voice soft and barely audible, “please, Yeosang, just let me help you.” 

Everything goes still around Jongho’s mind. He’s isolated from the rest of the world, alone and stranded, watching the sun set far away on the horizon, light clinging onto the sea as if begging quietly to not be forgotten. 

Yeosang shrink further into the couch. “I think you should go,” he voices, words pushed off his tongue and into the air before he can change his mind.

Jongho freezes in his spot, breath caught in his throat as the sun dips below the horizon and the waves crash over him, sweeping his feet away and pulling him into the dark waters. His stomach plummets, the room spins. This whole situation doesn’t feel real, but from the intensity of his heart is hammering against his ribcage until it physically _hurts_ , he knows this is no nightmare, and definitely no dream.

Jongho blinks back tears. “What?” he whispers, voice breaking as he looks intently at Yeosang for any sort of response. Seconds tick by like hours, and during those short eternities Jongho’s hope falters. A single tear rolls down his cheek. He doesn’t try to hide it. 

“You can’t help me,” Yeosang mutters, and Jongho sees the way his eyes are glassing over. “I thin-” he snaps his jaw shut, interrupting himself, “I _want_ you to leave.”

Jongho’s world crumbles. He shakes his head, more tears running down his cheeks, and he latches onto Yeosang’s arm, clinging on for dear life. Yeosang stiffens, shying away from the hold as if it burns him, cereal knocked over to make a mess of the carpet. Yeosang screams at him to let go, to leave and not come back. He’s sobbing, kicking himself away from Jongho, until Yunho sticks his head out his bedroom door to check on the commotion. 

Yunho quickly catches on that this isn’t another of their regular brawls. He strides over in a hurry to forcefully remove Jongho from Yeosang and push him towards the door. Jongho watches Yeosang curl up around the pillow he’s bawling into through his own blurry eyes, but then Yunho blocks the sight, stuffing Jongho’s jacket and shoes into his arms.

“You’ve overspent you welcome, dude, it’s time to go home,” he says coolly, but the warning threat looms behind the words, noticeable by the venom in them. 

Jongho can’t stop crying as the door smacks shut in front of him. He hears the lock turn, and even though he’s on the outside he feels imprisoned. He stands there, moping and empty inside, for who knows how long. 

Jongho doesn’t remember the walk home. He doesn’t remember it starting to rain, or the car that honks angrily at him as he crosses the road on a red light. He doesn’t remember opening the door and not turning the light on, or sitting against the wall with a vodka bottle in his hand, still dressed in his soaked clothes. He doesn’t remember falling asleep on the cold wood. And he doesn’t want to remember Yeosang’s teary eyes, or the fact that Yunho probably wrapped him in a hug to comfort him. He doesn’t want to. 

Yet he does.

By Friday, Jongho still hasn’t left the house, barely even set foot out of bed. He’s cried a lot, slept some and eaten less. There’s too many empty bottles on the floor and recently watched shows on his Netflix account (not that he was actually watching). He overall feels like he’s about to throw up at all times. He misses Yeosang.

By Sunday, he finally charges his phone. There’s several missed calls, from his parents or his friends, worried voice mails and panicked messages. None from Yeosang. That rips his heart back to shreds once more, and he opens Tinder through the fresh tears. 

By the end of July, Jongho has been on thirteen dates. All of them have been a total disaster, neither of them being with Yeosang. He’s the reason of every failure, either because of him getting black-out drunk or breaking down, but always ending in himself crying himself to sleep. His friends have given up on contacting him, he never responded anyways.

By August, Jongho misses Yeosang so much his entire body aches. 

By September, Jongho’s cold. Not physically, mentally. Everything is negative or wrong, and he hates everything he used to love. He’s emotionally drained, happiness deleted from his memory along with the photos of Yeosang on his phone. What used to make him feel alive now kills him on the inside, and he’s drowning in a sea of black nothingness, his mind an endless cave echoing of suffering and loneliness.

By October, he drops out of his bachelor’s degree. He didn’t show up for any of the lectures at the start of the year, not even the only obligatory one, so his professor sent him an email about it. Jongho writes back that he’s not able to finish the degree. His professor asks if he can help in any way. Jongho doesn’t answer. 

December, and his grandfather passes. Due to him and his father falling out, Jongho inherits it all. The company, the house, the antiques; he sells it all for less than it’s worth. He buys himself a quality sports car and a bottle of the finest whiskey, and smiles when he crashes into a tree. On the way to the hospital he meets Yeosang in his dreams, a light in the end of this cave he’s been trapped in, as he swerves between life and death. Jongho never expected an angel to set his world on fire, yet there he is, smiling at him and reaching out in an invitation, and Jongho runs. He runs and runs, but never getting closer, and his legs are too heavy to lift but still he runs, and then he’s back to reality while the doctor sighs in relief.

He spends half a year in rehab. While training his muscles, his mind also grows stronger, and his drinking habit is left in the past. He finds joy in music again, goes to a few concerts and makes a cover channel. He gets great response, but never breaks through. He doesn’t date anyone, too caught up in catching up to even consider it, which is probably a good thing. 

In June he gets accepted back into school and finishes his degree at the top of the class. He gets a job that pays well enough and has bearable working hours. He rises quickly in his position from hard work, getting his own decently sized office and a personal assistant after no more than four years in the company. He’s successful; but he could never shake the feeling that something’s missing, a need to fill that vacant space in his heart.

Jongho walks home one day in November when the weather turns from clear to pouring rain in an instant. He seeks shelter under the first roof he sees. On the door there’s a flyer for an event a few blocks away, and he decides he might as well go there to wait out the rain. Hauling a taxi, he arrives in minutes, shaking the water out of his trench coat as well as he can before passing it to the lady in charge of the cloakroom, handing her the entrance fee with a smile. 

He strolls around, taking in photographies and sculptures. He buys a cup of coffee to warm his hands and his soul on, getting lost in the exhibitions. He loses track of time, the rain long since stopped and the sky turning purple outside, and he stumbles upon a smaller section of the gallery, hidden in the corner and out of sight from the main entrance. He wanders in, looking at delicate paintings. 

The first shows a family of three, all dressed in black. The children are holding hands, faces pale and emotionless, the mother behind them clutching the Union Jack close to her chest. Her face is contorted into one of pain and sorrow, fat tears rolling down her cheeks in a steady stream.

He moves to the next, of a little girl with messy hair and only one shoe. She’s surrounded by dust and rubble, a teddy bear hanging loosely from one hand as she wipes dust out of her eye. There’s steaks on her face as evidence she’s been crying, her dress ripped at the shoulder.

Jongho freezes at the next painting. The lonely woman on the street corner is familiar, the end of her cigarette still burning between the red nails. The ripped stockings, the bruises, the short skirt and the high heels…

He knows he’s seen this one before. And he knows exactly where.

“Puts you in a sort of mood, doesn’t it?”

Jongho snaps his head to the owner of the voice standing beside him. He’s wearing a black turtleneck and suit trousers, about the same height as himself. He’s well built, but still lean, and there’s a fruity hint to the man. Jongho recognises the smell easily, and even if he didn’t see the freshly dyed pink colour in his hair he’d still know.

“Yeosang,” Jongho breathes out in disbelief.

“Hello, Jongho,” he smiles back weakly, his eyes holding Jongho’s gently.

Jongho’s insides awaken, unfurling in an acquainted way at the reminder of how Yeosang’s voice sounds when saying his name; trivial and normal, but to Jongho it means the world. His throat tightens as he takes in the face in front of him, beautifully carved nose and cheekbones, deep brown eyes and the smile he’s dreamt of since they parted. There’s maturity to his features, enough for him to appear older, but he’s still Yeosang. Jongho swallows the urge to tear up.

“Do you have time to talk?” Yeosang asks hesitantly, signalling to a back room with his head.

Jongho nods, his heart thumping hard as he follows Yeosang. He takes a deep breath before entering the room and sitting down in a leather chair, Yeosang closing the door behind them for some privacy. Jongho is nervous about how this is gonna go, if he’s gonna relapse into old habits of crying himself to sleep every night instead of once in a while, or end up being dragged back to repeating past mistakes or not, but then Yeosang sits down beside him and takes hold of both of his hands. Jongho holds his breath expectantly, holding it like his life depends on this very air.

“Jongho,” Yeosang mumbles, voice shaky, “I’m sorry.”

It’s not the words he expected to hear, but a sense of relief washes over Jongho, his shoulders relaxing in a way they haven’t in almost half a decade. He feels lighter, like he’s ascending, but Yeosang’s touch keep him planted firmly on the ground. Tears build up in his eyes, and they spill freely, landing in hot drops onto their clasped hands, and then Yeosang is crying beside him too. 

“I was an idiot,” Yeosang sniffles, “a fool who didn’t understand. I was too scared of my own hurt to realise, Jongho, and I’m so sorry.”

Yeosang’s words blend together at the end, and Jongho’s heart breaks. He leans over, wraps his arms tightly around Yeosang’s shaking frame and pulls him close like he should’ve years ago. Yeosang clutches tight too, and he sobs a wet stain into Jongho’s shirt. Jongho brings a hand to his hair, stroking it gently.

“I’m sorry too, Yeosang,” he chokes out.

Yeosang pulls away at that. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he protests, and Jongho tries not to take comfort in that, “I was afraid to open up and face my past, but losing you showed me just how much I could bend before I break. From that moment on I decided to never let my past ruin my future again,” Yeosang explains, looking deep into Jongho’s eyes. His grip gets firmer when he continues. “I promised to myself I’d find you again, Jongho. I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Jongho’s stomach drops. New tears are wetting his face and dripping from his chin. His hand cups Yeosang’s cheek, who leans into the touch with closed eyes.

“I’ve missed you so much, Sangie,” he weeps, voice barely audible in the silent room, “I never stopped missing you.”

Yeosang flings his arms around Jongho’s neck at the mention of the nickname. He sobs, loudly and with his entire body, into the crook of Jongho’s neck. Jongho pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around him tighter, opting to never let go again no matter what happens. He’s not losing Yeosang ever again. Destiny be damned, he’s keeping Yeosang by his side no matter what pre-written story lies ahead.

“I looked everywhere for you,” Yeosang whispers into his chest, “but you weren’t there.”

Ice runs down Jongho’s spine at the bleak pain in Yeosang’s voice. He’s felt this before, a premonition, like the smell of rain before a thunderstorm. Yeosang tries to pull away. He holds him in place.

“Jongho-”

“I know. I know you’re gonna say that it won’t work. I know you’re gonna tell me we can’t be together. Just, please,” Jongho says, his words faltering into a meek plea, “ _please_ let me hold you for a little longer. Just like back then.”

Yeosang stays quiet. He slumps even deeper into Jongho, bonelessly pressing against him. Jongho buries his nose into Yeosang’s hair and closes his eyes, lets the fragrance take him back to that night they met. It all flashes in a whirlwind of glimpses and fleeting moments he thought he’d forgotten as soon as they passed back then. He remembers Yeosang tasting of bubblegum, Yeosang giggling against the top of his head during a movie, Yeosang breathing heavily underneath him, and his nails digging into his shoulder blades outside the church. He remembers the look in his eyes on the dance floor, his skin burning at the slightest touch of his fingertips. 

But the one most prominent moment in his mind is Yeosang standing against the sunrise, the wonder on his face and the breeze flowing through his hair. The pink sky never came close to being more captivating than him, the radiant smile he’d worn making the fiery colours behind him seem bleak and boring in comparison, and the fond gaze warming him in ways a jacket never could.

“I just couldn’t find you in time,” Yeosang sniffles.

Jongho lets him sit back enough to look at him. He sees Yeosang’s battle to find the words to say, but in their place fresh tears are welling up. Jongho takes one of his hands between his own in an attempt to offer comfort. Yeosang swallows, the drops finally spilling down his puffy cheeks, and Jongho realises what he’s trying to tell him. 

Jongho doesn’t notice the door opening. His world has gone mute, just a steady peep deafening out the outside of his mind. He somehow understands Yunho is the one entering, holding two cups. Yeosang is crying into his hands, and he wants to reach out to him, but he’s not able to move. the cups crash to the floor, spilling everywhere, Jongho doesn’t _hear_ it, and then Yunho has absorbed Yeosang’s shaking frame into his own, standing between them like a protective shield. He doesn’t need to glance at Yunho’s hand to be sure.

The glint he saw was enough.

Jongho is numb. He doesn’t know what to do, how to feel, or where his thoughts are. He raises his head, sight translucent as blurry figures moves around in front of him. Everything is moving in slow motion, and that is exactly why looking at Yeosang is the most painful thing Jongho has ever seen. 

Yeosang is hurting.

And it’s because of him. Because he came here, and they met. He ripped the stitches out of the past, the threads that held Yeosang together, most likely sown by Yunho through these past years. And now he’s unravelling in his arms the same way as the day they parted. 

Jongho is also hurting, unravelling. His mind brings him back to being shoved out into the hallway, Yunho staring him down with the same cold, hard face as now. Only this time he doesn’t have to speculate about whether Yunho was holding Yeosang like he once did; no, this time he’s bound to _watch_ as he does just that. 

Yunho twists his body further, standing with his back to Jongho and effectively creating a wall between them. Jongho’s heart aches, pins and needles of guilt and shame pricks and stabs away at full speed, not letting up for him to breathe, and he doubles over in self-loathing on the leather chair. He hugs his knees, curling up just like he did as a kid when the storms were raging outside his windows. He clutches tight, hoping to ride this one out too, but it has already settled in his mind and soul.

The pressure in his head is crushing him, he feels the cracks starting to form in his sanity and rationality screams at him to just _breathe_ , but how can he gasp for air when he just want to disappear, go somewhere no one can follow and just stay there, stay where he’s safe from this, from _feeling_ , he wants this to end, to rewind, to be erased from existence-

Arms envelops him in a warm embrace, and suddenly the pressure in his ears pop. He’s back to where he was, curled up and crying in the leather chair,Yeosang staring into his eyes and drying away the tears on his cheeks. Yunho is keeping his distance, standing a few feet away and observing them. His face doesn’t let on what he’s thinking, but based on the unrelenting expression Jongho guesses not a lot of pleasant thoughts are forming. Jongho looks away.

“Choi Jongho,” Yunho announces, and Jongho jumps at the slightly deeper voice than he remembered it to be.

Jongho fidgets with the button of his shirt cuffs in preparation for whatever is about to come. He dares another peek at his face when he doesn’t say anything more. Yunho is on the verge of tears, his lips quivering. Jongho is confused for a second, but then Yunho has stepped forward to wrap around the both of them, and Jongho is absolutely, one hundred percent, lost. Yunho is crying onto his shoulder and Jongho is patting his back hesitantly, desperately trying to get in contact with Yeosang. 

Yeosang only giggles.

"We'll make it work."

Jongho’s date is going perfectly.

Netflix and chill usually tend to end up in a hook-up, but less usually than you’d actually think, it ends with someone getting dicked down from both ends. Add someone else getting rimmed at the same time and you have a real puzzle to solve.

But, as usually, the shitty movie playing in the background is easily forgotten for simpler pleasures, and to be fair, who could deny seeing come mixed with the tears in Yeosang’s eyelashes? Definitely not Jongho.

His thighs are cramping in his struggle to not crush Yunho’s face lodged between his ass cheeks, wanting to enjoy the feel of his tongue prodding into him and licking around the taut ring of his hole, but Yeosang gagging on his cock makes it so much harder to _sit still_. Of course, Yeosang can’t help it. With Yunho’s dick thrusting so far up his ass it’s almost tickling his intestines the poor guy can’t do anything but catapult forward. 

Bottom line is: if Jongho ‘accidentally' sits too comfortably onto Yunho, it’s his own goddamn fault.

The room is filled with slick sounds, the excessive amount of lube Yunho insists on using every damn time, despite the clean up needed after, squelching obscenely loud around them. Jongho praises the lord (no, he’s still not religious) they live in a penthouse without any neighbors, or else he’d have to pay for a series of therapy sessions for the poor people having to listen at them go at it like bunnies.

Yunho wipes a finger along the inside of Yeosang’s thigh to gather some of the warm lube leaking down, making him moan around Jongho’s dick so raw it reverberates throughout his whole body in a shiver. Yunho’s finger enters Jongho without warning, and his hips jerk down. Yeosang pops off, a thick string of saliva hanging from the head of Jongho’s dick to Yeosang’s swollen, red lips. Yeosang looks Jongho in the eyes as he takes him in once more, Yunho’s finger brushing his prostate right when Yeosang’s nose hits his happy trail. 

Jongo moans loudly, grabbing onto the pink hair in front of him, now more a pastel, and grinds his hips forward and into Yeosang’s wet mouth. Yunho grunts against Jongho’s cheek, his rhythm becoming uneven where he slams into Yeosang. Yeosang moves the hand he's resting on Yunho’s chest higher to lay it across his throat, moaning at the way his hips snap against his shaper, more intense.

Yunho is the first to come, burying himself deep inside Yeosang as his release washes over him in waves. Yeosang whimpers at the fingernails digging in to the soft skin where his thighs meets his ass, swallowing hard around Jongho who's crying out a string of curses. He pulls Yeosang off roughly, who opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out in anticipation. Yunho’s tongue continues to work wonders on Jongho as he sneaks a hand between himself and Yeosang to jerk him off.

Jongho comes with an animalistic moan. He lets himself ride his own orgasm out, Yeosang releasing all over Yunho, who’s dragging his tongue flat over Jongho’s hole in a soothing manner. Jongho falls back against the couch’s armrest, spent and post-orgasm drowsy, but he watches Yeosang lean down to kiss Yunho messily, Jongho’s semen smeared over his lips once they’ve both swallowed.

“Don’t forget to give Jongie a taste, hm?” Yunho pants, smacking Yeosang’s behind to encourage him on.

Yeosang giggles (holy fuck that giggle) and collects his own come from Yunho’s chest. He crawls forward to rest between Jongho’s open legs, and Jongho kisses him tenderly, the tip of his tongue dragging along at the seam of Yeosang’s mouth to ask for allowance, his jaw falling pliant. Jongho shoves his tongue inside, licking wherever he can reach, savouring the mix of bitter come and Yeosang’s sweet mouth. They continue to make out until Yunho returns with a wet cloth to clean them up. Needless to say, they might need another new couch soon.

They shower and go to bed, the view over Seoul’s city lights below casting a warm glow over the room and reflecting in the silken sheets on the bed. Jongho and Yeosang are curled up under them, arms and legs tangled in a heap of stray limbs. Jongho is already falling asleep, breath slow and steady. Yeosang is watching him, the hair spread across the pillow, the eyelashes resting onto his cheekbones, his tan skin against the white sheets making him look angelic. He holds his breath without knowing, not wanting to wake him up, even though he knows he’d sleep through a fire alarm, a small smile creeping onto his face.

A dip in the bed beside him jostles him out of his thoughts, and he hushes Yunho for being too abrupt. Yunho mimics the nagging, but quiets down, settling so close to Yeosang’s backside he could be a mold of his body. Yunho rests his face on Yeosang’s, cheek to cheek, and they both stare fondly at their peaceful third. Yeosang intertwines his fingers with Jongho’s, ho tightens the hold in his sleep, making Yunho giggle.

“You’re both so fucking adorable, Jongho might have to buy me new teeth,” Yunho teases, reaching over to turn off the bed light. 

“Hahaha, very funny,” Yeosang whispers back and elbows Yunho in the ribs. 

Yunho just giggles is response and pecks Yeosang’s cheek before resting his long arm across both of their waists. Yeosang is left staring for a while longer, his heart swelling as Jongho smacks his lips. 

_He stayed, even though he never does,_ he thinks, _they both did._

**Author's Note:**

> So that's it folks!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading (and leaving kudos <3), please yell at me in the comments or on twt @opphwasbaby, I love hearing your thoughts!!


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